The Reason is Dead
by Aeci
Summary: Bruce thought he watched Tony die on national news. It brought him and the Other Guy into mutual understanding. Spoilers for Iron Man 3, warning for suggested suicide.


_TRIGGER WARNING: Suicide._

_**A/N: **__StarksViolet sent me a great prompt the other day; to write about Bruce's reaction to seeing Tony's house get destroyed (and having him presumed dead)! It was four in the morning and I felt like writing some fanfiction, so I took a shot at the prompt! This story's a pretty twisted version of it, and the ending makes me sad, but oh well._

_Anyways, enjoy! :D Please R&R if you liked it... I might make this into a short story if you want to read more of it._

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**The Reason is Dead**

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Bruce had a strange relationship with death.

It began when he woke up in the snow. There were clods of ice sticking to his skin and there was numbness in his toes. He didn't open his eyes at first, because he thought that if he kept them closed, he might wake up in a place that wasn't so damn cold. But reality set in. He gathered the strength to look around and see where he was. Then he saw the bullet in his hand.

_That_ bullet.

He turned it over. It was plastered with red and green blood. He remembered how this happened, and he knew that it meant – he couldn't die. The Other Guy wouldn't let him. Unless they were both on the same page, Bruce didn't have permission to jump ship.

He was wearied after that. Consequently, he began viewing death as a falsehood.

In doing so, it helped Bruce cope with the fact that he couldn't control his life. His failure to kill himself wasn't the Other Guy's fault anymore – there was no such thing as death, and that alone was the cause for his inabilities.

This outlook didn't stop him from helping people in Calcutta. When someone died, he dismissed it as an error in nature's design and moved on. In the very back of his mind, he knew death was real. But he always pushed it away. It didn't matter if death looked real, or felt real.

To him, it _couldn't _be real.

He couldn't lose that control over his life.

But things would change. No matter how important the lie was, it was only a matter of time before it ended. For Bruce, death became real again.

And it was on the day Tony died.

Bruce saw Tony on the news when he was passing through a market. He didn't usually care about global events – he tended to focus on what was close to him – but Tony held a special place in his life. Even the Other Guy liked him. Bruce had to stop and watch what was going on.

But in the grand scheme of things, Bruce's sentiment only made things harder for him when the first missile hit. Only then did he realize Tony was set to die.

It had begun.

Bruce watched the flames swallow up the mansion. He saw flashes of red and orange and pure chaos. The air became clogged by dirt and dust, and not only did it look stifling, but the heat seemed to reach down into Bruce's own lungs.

Incensed, the Other Guy began to stir. Sometimes he was audible, and other times he was quiet. But right now, his voice filled every spare inch of Bruce's mind.

And the voice was distraught.

His violent lyrics had been replaced by an eerie sort of lullaby:

_Why aren't we there to help him?_

Bruce couldn't find an answer to that – in fact, he couldn't feel anything. He was numb. He watched as Tony suited up and took down one of the helicopters. The man could've been saying, "just you watch. I'll make it. I _always_ make it."

The situation took a turn for the worse when Tony attacked the second helicopter. It carried itself into the face of the mansion, tearing down the walls and shattering the glass that gave the cameras their view of Tony. Bruce held his breath and waited for a suit to emerge.

It never did.

He watched as the mansion broke in two, the foundations crumbling like they were made of gingerbread. It held onto the cliff for dear life.

The Other Guy spoke again:_ I should be there right now._

Bruce clenched his jaw as a ripple of heat passed down his spine. He suppressed it.

_I saved him once. I can save him again._

He had to stop another wave of heat. It was more powerful this time, burning and baking under his skin, more equal to the true belligerence of the Other Guy.

_Let me out._

Bruce swallowed and fought to keep his composure. Then, in the middle of it all, he felt a most peculiar sensation – he was close enough to help. He wanted – _needed_ – to go and save Tony. Maybe Tony was just trapped; maybe there was still the smallest of chances…

_Banner, I need to save him._

Right then, Bruce stopped – he knew the impulses weren't his own. The Other Guy was growing desperate for him to change. Bruce would do it in a heartbeat if it meant they could save Tony, but no matter how much he longed to give in, there was no use.

They were across the ocean.

"I'm sorry."

_Please, Banner… Let me help him! Please!_

"Stop!" cried Bruce.

And then the remnants of Tony's mansion let go. They fell into the sea and spilled out. The waves ebbed and flowed, pooling into the cracks and pipes and pieces of crystal. The jetsam fought to stay afloat, almost like Tony himself was willing it, but it lost the fight.

After a quiet struggle, it sank into the foam.

Bruce and the Other Guy waited. They waited for their friend to emerge, to say that he told them so, to say that he made it. Because he was supposed to show _them_ how to make it, too.

But there was nothing left.

…_He's gone, Banner._

Miserable with grief, Bruce had to tear his eyes from the television. His hands fell into his pockets and he looked at up at the deadened skies. "Not even you could have made it in time."

_If you hadn't left him… We would've been right there. Right there, Banner._

Bruce felt cold. A chill ran down his spine, bitter as the ocean in which Tony had fallen. The scientist started walking. "You should have made me stay."

Then, in the most haunting of events, Bruce thought back to the bullet that nearly took his life. He remembered how it felt in his hand, cool on cool, and then he heard the sound of a gunshot flashing before him.

_Banner…_

_We're both to blame._

The Other Guy was on the same page as Bruce now. He'd given him consent to pull the trigger. Bruce didn't understand why the Other Guy was doing this – he'd been so hostile about it before – but then he discovered there was a reason for it.

In the Arctic, the Other Guy didn't let him go because he knew they'd find a reason to keep on living.

And they did. They had found a reason in Tony. But Bruce's fear had gotten the better of him, and he made the mistake of leaving Tony behind. And the Other Guy made his own mistake – he never convinced Bruce to stay.

They didn't want to hurt Tony. Kill him.

But now, their reason for living was dead. As the tears came down and the ironies finally sank in, far deeper than they ever imagined, they both knew there was no going back. Nothing would ever replace Tony's stupidity, his bravery, and his heart.

The Other Guy had given up. Bruce had given up.

He felt for a gun in his pocket. There was nothing there. He asked the Other Guy to get him away from here, to take him so far away that he could never find his way back. With a nod of compliance that wasn't his own, Bruce felt himself light up. His world began to fade, and for once, he didn't feel anything at all.

"I'm sorry, Tony," he whispered. "We're so sorry."

_We should've been there to save you._

**_- End -_**


End file.
